Spike Jonze Binds the Artificial and the Human in 'Her'

Astra Taylor’s 2008 documentary Examined Life
turned the spotlight on a collection of modern philosophers — including
Cornel West, Judith Butler, Peter Singer and Michael Hardt — walking
and/or riding along city streets while riffing on the human condition in
contemporary times. One of the segments focused on the relationship
between man and nature, specifically in regard to man-made waste, which
we tend to think of as something outside the natural world (think
biodegradability), but the more philosophical take asks us to see our
man-made products as human by-products, thereby rendering them as
“natural” as any other material in the environment.

What we make — the artificial elements
out there — by their very nature are “natural,” even “human,” right?
Steven Spielberg toyed around with this notion in Artificial Intelligence, his hijacking of Stanley Kubrick’s Pinocchio
adaptation, which mined American history to debate whether or not
humans could love and accept love in return from social/technological
constructs.

Writer-director Spike Jonze’s Her
picks up the discussion but tickles and teases us with emotional
intangibility. In an undefined future-scape, Theodore (Joaquin Phoenix)
drifts along, penning personal letters for those who have trouble
expressing emotions, dictating them into a computer and then printing
them out as “handwritten” hard copies to be forwarded to loved ones.
He’s struggling to adjust to life without his soon-to-be ex-wife
Catherine (Rooney Mara), who he still dreams about and obviously longs
for, but couldn’t commit to when she was around. Theodore says the right
things, manufacturing details and memories for his clients in ways that
he can’t quite figure out how to accomplish in his own interpersonal
relationships.

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And one arrives in the form of a new
personal computing operating system programmed to be more intuitive.
Theodore, like seemingly everyone, agrees to the upgrade. One night
after work, he finds himself answering questions posed by the operating
system and then suddenly a raspy voice (Scarlett Johansson) playfully
greets him. Within minutes, they have settled upon a name (Samantha),
and the two of them are off on what amounts to a digital-age first date.

Samantha, thanks to such intimate access
to Theodore’s life (his email correspondence and web surfing history)
and the ability to scan all of this data in microseconds, knows him
better than anyone. What emerges, though, is the sense of curiosity in
Samantha; an evolving desire to get to know “herself,” and it is
fascinating to watch Theodore embark on this journey with her. He helps
her build memories with him, and in the process Theodore becomes a more
fully realized person as well.

Could this be love? All of the evidence
from Jonze resoundingly affirms this and does so without reservation.
Samantha “experiences” pleasure with Theodore, shares his bed (along
with almost every waking moment) and longs for him during their time
apart. Theodore worries briefly — in an all-too-human way — how they
will be accepted, but soon discovers that human-OS relationships become
common so quickly that it is as if society has evolved to almost utopian
degrees.

But what happens, then, when an intuitive
OS matures past its human partner? Will it become more human, achieving
some type of post-human status? Samantha processes information far
beyond Theodore’s understanding, and thus “feels” more, “lives” more.

Films like Artificial Intelligence and Steven Soderbergh’s Solaris
constrain the potential of the “others” created from and by humanity by
strapping them to people confined to their own limited understandings.
In Solaris, the re-manifestation of Rheya (Natascha McElhone),
the dead wife of troubled psychologist Kelvin (George Clooney), comes to
realize that she will never be able to break free of Kelvin’s memories
of her. The idea of her “return” feels romantic in a classic sense, but
she will never be her own unique person; she will always be Kelvin’s
less-than-ideal version of Rheya.

Jonze masterminds a way through this
dilemma by allowing Samantha’s intuition to fully bloom. Her astonishing
rate of “experience” pushes Theodore to take risks that he would not
otherwise have assumed. Her highly evolved humanity triggers an
emotional maturity in Theodore and in Phoenix; Jonze has a performer
more than capable of walking us through this process. Phoenix starts out
in a box, but when he breaks it open, he offers such a vivid reflection
of the risks and rewards of life that he embodies the finest example of
what it means to be human. (Opens Friday at Esquire Theatre) (R) Grade: A